Her lips lifted in a seductive smile. “My turn.”
Feckin’ right it is.
She raised to her knees, pushing me onto the mattress. I held my breath, watching her climb on top of me, straddling my hips, skirts bunched up to her waist. When she rocked her hips, my cock ached. Then she did it again.
“Shit.” This woman would be the death of me.
One by one, she unfastened the buttons of my shirt, killing me slowly, grinding her center against my swollen flesh. And then the siren raised to her knees, taking my sanity with her.
“My dear immortal husband,” she rasped, chest heaving as she gasped, “if you think I’m going to rush this—”
Enough teasing. Enough torture.
I had my wife flat on her back before she could throw the rest of my words at me.
My magic surged and swelled, finally breaking free, sending what remained of our clothes away. I breathed it in, hearing Keelynn do the same. Allowing the heady euphoria, the tingling high to consume us both.
“Wicked, wicked woman.” Could she see what she did to me? How she ignited my body, leaving me overcome by flames? My mouth found hers, desperate for more than a taste. I wanted everything. Every gasp. Every sigh. Every curse. Every word of hate and lie of love to wash over me like a summer rain.
I nudged her thighs apart, ignoring the way she reached for me when I drew away. Keelynn had more skin to explore, more secrets to uncover. The hardened peaks of her high breasts. The line of her ribs. The dip of her naval. The curve of her hipbones. The valley between.
The taste of her left my cock heavy and aching. The sound she made when my cursed tongue found her center drove me to the edge.
She cried.
She begged.
She pleaded.
Keep going. Don’t stop. Yes. Yes. Yes.
She came with a breathless whimper, legs trembling against my ears. I sank home in one earth-shattering thrust, catching the final pulses of her orgasm. Her tight, wet heat clenched when I began to move.
As good as it had been the first time, nothing compared to this. No unspoken questions stretched between us. No barriers. This woman was mine, and I was hers. I’d fucked for centuries. But this . . . This was the first time I’d made love.
“Lie to me,” I begged.
“I love you.”
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I slammed into her bucking hips with wild abandon, all rhythm and pace slipping away. “Again.”
Keelynn’s short nails pierced my back. “I love you.”
The sweetest lie sent me over the cliff, freefalling into the arms of the woman I loved more than life itself.
This.
This was what I had spent centuries searching for.
This.
33
The scentof fresh basil permeated the warm air down in the castle kitchens, accompanied by our kitchen witch’s hums and the occasional metallicclapof lids meeting pots. The gray-haired woman slid a finger down the thick recipe book open on the high counter next to the hob.
As if she sensed my presence—or could hear my growling stomach—she gave me a harried wave. “Morning, Tadhg.”